


Just a Cold

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a cold, but insists the meeting must go on. Grantaire indulges him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Cold

**Author's Note:**

> SO. MUCH. FLUFF.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. You know it by now, I assume.

Grantaire all but forced the mug of steaming tea into Enjolras’s hands, wrinkling his nose as his boyfriend sniffed loudly before giving him a vague smile. “Danks,” he said, his nose so stuffy that he sounded far more like Joly than himself.

Tsk-ing slightly, Grantaire tugged the afghan closer around Enjolras’s shoulders, surreptitiously feeling his forehead, which was glistening with sweat. “You’re a fucking mess, you realize.”

Enjolras glared at him. “I’b  _fine_ ,” he snapped, with a touch of his normal impatience, though in the next moment he sneezed so hard that he almost spilled the tea all over himself. “It’s just a cold.”

“It’s not just a cold,” Grantaire told him, his brow furrowed as he watched Enjolras sipping the tea. “You’re running a fever and I’m pretty sure your coughing and sneezing are getting worse.” As if in response, Enjolras coughed, a loud, hacking that sounded far too wet for Grantaire’s comfort level. “Right, that’s it. I’m calling Combeferre. We’re going to postpone tonight’s meeting. There’s no way that you’re going to make it.”

Enjolras shook his head vigorously as he blew his nose. “Do! I’b  _fine_. And dis meeting is impordand!”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah you sound fine, alright.” He sat down next to Enjolras, rubbing his arm through the three blankets draped on top of him. “But seriously, what’s so important about this meeting? I know for a fact that nothing is really planned for us for the next few weeks. In fact, I recall someone who may or may not be you telling me that Les Amis weren’t doing anything important until after the holidays because there’s no good way to get media coverage during the holidays.”

After another sneezing fit, Enjolras curled against Grantaire, burrowing into his side. “Iran and dheir duclear deal.”

“Yes, because our little group has enough clout to make any kind of difference in a deal brokered by the world powers,” Grantaire deadpanned, wincing slightly when Enjolras dug his elbow into Grantaire’s side.

“It’s  _bore_  dan dad!” Enjolras insisted, though he didn’t even try and extricate his arms from the blanket cocoon to emphasize what he was saying with gestures. “It’s about a conbersation about world powers and our role and a bunch of dings.”

Grantaire chuckled lightly and kissed Enjolras’s temple. “But it’s also a conversation that can wait until you’re feeling better.”

Enjolras just shook his head, snuggling even closer to Grantaire. “Do. I have to go.”

Sighing, Grantaire rolled his eyes, though Enjolras couldn’t see. “Well that’s just too bad, because to be able to leave this apartment, you will have to go through me. And as much as I love you, to be honest, you’re not much of a fighter even when you’re fully healthy, and the way you are right now, I could take you without breaking a sweat.”

Though Enjolras grumbled something Grantaire couldn’t hear, he managed to get a hand out of the blanket, fumbling for his cellphone on the coffeetable, all without lifting his head off Grantaire’s chest. “Cobbeberre?” he said into the phone. “It’s be. Be’re mobing de meeding to by abardmend.”

Grantaire snorted loudly and took the phone out of Enjolras’s hand, ignoring Enjolras’s protest. “Hey. Yeah, Enjolras is insisting the meeting is still a go. I’m obviously not letting him out of here while he’s like this, so if you want to have everyone meet over here? Great.” He hung up and tossed the phone back on the table. “You’re a terrible person, did you know that?” Enjolras just chuckled weakly and closed his eyes.

About a half hour later, everyone began showing up. Combeferre was first, and he barely spared a glance at Enjolras, only pausing next to Grantaire long enough to mutter, “Better you than me”, before taking his place across the room, getting his notes ready before the meeting.

Most people did nothing more than give Enjolras pitying glances, though Courfeyrac couldn’t seem to stop laughing at him, and took at least a dozen pictures from his phone. “Enjolras is going to kill you,” Grantaire warned genially. “And I won’t stop him.”

“Whatever. These pictures are  _precious_ , and completely worth dying for.”

Joly took one look at him and asked sharply, “When was the last time you gave him something for the fever? Have you been giving him plenty of fluids? That looks pretty nasty.”

“I’b fine,” Enjolras said, his voice muffled against Grantaire’s sweater, and Grantaire just shrugged apologetically at Joly, who rolled his eyes before sitting across from Enjolras, muttering in what was not even a remotely quiet voice about stupid idiots who couldn’t even take care of themselves properly.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

For the most part, Enjolras tried to stay as actively engaged in the discussion as possible, despite his perch half-on Grantaire’s lap and the fact that he more or less refused to lift his head up, half-speaking the words into Grantaire, his voice a comforting rumble as he spoke.

Grantaire paid more attention to Enjolras than the meeting, trying to convince him to continue drinking his tea and to at least try to cover his mouth when he sneezed. But then when a debate broke out regarding Israel’s reaction to the brokered deal, he noticed that Enjolras had suddenly gone very still against him.

“Is he  _asleep_?” Feuilly asked suddenly, staring at Enjolras, whose breathing had rather suspiciously evened out, his mouth partially open against Grantaire’s chest.

Combeferre glanced over and sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if asking for patience. “Yeah, he looks like he’s out for the count. We should go, let him get some rest.” He glanced at Grantaire. “You’ll be fine with taking care of him?”

Grantaire nodded unconcernedly, stroking Enjolras’s hair gently. “Sure, but you guys don’t have to go. He’ll probably sleep better with you lot here. All this discussion and argument is like a lullaby to him, freak that he is.” Grantaire’s tone was fond, and he smiled down at Enjolras. “Seriously, finish the meeting. We’ll be fine.”

After a brief moment’s hesitation, Combeferre inclined his head and they carried on with the meeting. Grantaire zoned out even more than previously, not paying attention to anything that was being said, paying attention only to the man still clinging to him like a koala, even in sleep, his nose running against Grantaire’s sweater, his mouth slack in the most unattractive fashion.

Grantaire didn’t think Enjolras had ever looked so beautiful, and he didn’t know if he had ever been so happy.

So he let Enjolras sleep, still stroking his hair, a warm contentment spreading through his body as he half-closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch. About twenty minutes later, when the meeting was winding down and everyone was beginning to pack up their things to leave, Enjolras stirred slightly. Without opening his eyes, he got his arm out of the blankets and raised it halfway into the air. “I agree wid Cobbeberre,” he muttered sleepily.

Everyone froze in position before looking at each other and laughing as quietly as they could while they shuffled out of the room. Combeferre squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder as he left, and Joly huffed a sigh and told him in an undertone, “If he gets worse, give me a call.”

Grantaire smiled at them, and when they were gone, carefully pulled Enjolras upright. “Hey,” he said softly. “The meeting’s over. What do you say we get you to bed?”

Enjolras snored loudly and made no attempt to keep himself upright and Grantaire sighed affectionately. He gathered Enjolras into his arms as best he could and stood, groaning at the dead weight. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed. You ridiculous human being.”

It didn’t take him too long to carry Enjolras into their bedroom; despite everything, Enjolras really didn’t weigh that much. He set him on the bed, smiling as Enjolras automatically curled up into his normal sleeping position, and rearranged the blankets on top of him, tucking them in around him. Then he turned to leave, ready to tiptoe out of the room, but Enjolras’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’d,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Stay. Please?”

“Well, since you said please,” Grantaire sighed, crawling into bed next to him, letting Enjolras curl around him again. He kissed Enjolras’s forehead. “By the way, when you’re feeling better, you’re washing your snot out of my sweater. Because I quite like this one – it’s the one your mom got me for Christmas last year, and it’s very soft.”

“Edough dalking, more sleeping,” Enjolras muttered into his shoulder, and Grantaire just chuckled softly.

He kissed Enjolras once more and whispered, “Goodnight. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Enjolras made a low humming noise in the back of his throat. “I’b fine as long as I hab you.”


End file.
